Sisterhood
by RedMerchant
Summary: A 30-day tribute to Captain Phila. Major plot spoilers. [Chapter 2: How could she think of her mother in the past tense?]
1. hero

_but the true heroes don't get happy endings._

i. hero

From the moment the first arrow entered her back, she sensed Fate's knotted, blood-dyed ribbons wrapping her in embrace. Her tongue tasted metal on her lips.

"Risen— How—" she gasped, dust filling her lungs, fingers clawing at the ground. They came so _close_. _How_, then? How could Phila, who only sought to serve her mistress, meet with such an obstacle so close to her goal?

Those blasted archers blurred into a soupy brown mass, and she strained to glimpse the woman perched on the overarching precipice. The sun forced her eyes to narrow.

_Emmeryn_. How long had it been since she felt the name roll around her mouth? "Emmeryn," she rasped, beneath her breath, anchoring her hands in the dry earth. She took a gulp of air, flinched at the pulse of pain, and struggled to meet the eye of the Exalt she served. "Y-Your Grace, I— forgive me..." she cried, wincing, pain searing through her back. _Please, forgive me._

"Phila!" Emmeryn called back, her voice projecting across the expanse of desert, soft and gentle as it was.

"Exeunt one pegasus knight!" Gangrel guffawed. His gnawing voice starkly contrasted Her Grace's smooth tones. "Watch how they fall, one by one! Ahahaha!"

She curled into herself at his cackles. Oh gods. Oh gods, if only she had seen this coming, if only she could've anticipated—

_Thunk!_

_Thunkthunkthunk—_

Scores more arrows pummeled Phila, the pain near unbearable by now, and the shrieks ringing in her ears let her know the Plegians spared none of her squad, either.

She heard them all; each one, each _scream_, individually. Others may have heard a mottled, singular cry of terror, but not Captain Phila. She—who saw to their training and ate and laughed and wept and _breathed_ with them—heard them all.

A high, shrill and delicate yelp belonged to the youngest, newest recruit, Lydia. The girl brimming with youthful potential. The girl with the shining eyes, and eager heart, her bouncy ponytail reminiscent of a certain feather-headed princess.

Though the cries of her sisters broke her heart, Lydia's claimed the biggest piece.

_I'm so sorry for dragging you down with me. __You had your whole life ahead of you._

She thought things with Plegia could finally, _finally_ come to an end — but not like this. Oh gods, not like this.

A sob rushed on her, too fast to stunt before it wracked her body, sending pain arching through her back and ribs and chest. Oh dear Naga, it _hurt_. It _hurt_. But it didn't hurt as horrendously as seeing her sisters-at-arms fall, nor did it pain her as much to hear that dreadful king's voice scratching her ears while her queen cried out her name so desperately.

Phila had a high threshold for pain.

But, she was sure, not even the strongest human being on earth could bear so much at one time. Her arms buckled; her body finally collapsed against the dust. Perhaps she could die with the hope of her sacrifice holding some meaning.

Not so— that tactician, the strange one, murmured on to the prince. "It's not right. It's not fair, even, but... Chrom. One life against a million, y—"

"_Don't_!" Chrom barked, rightfully so in the face of such talk. "Just... Don't say it," he pleaded, his voice wavering, like it'd break if someone so much as blew on it.

Phila's fists, with a lethargy quite unlike her, clenched tight. For the first time in years, _decades_, she prayed.

_Don't let my sacrifice be in vain._

_Don't let this happen. You can't let it._

_Please. I don't know if you hear me, or care, or if you're real, even, but please, if you can do anything at _all_, I—_

She stopped short at the music of the Exalt's voice drifting across the clearing.

"Plegians!" she began, though Phila listened anyway, and no doubt every non-Plegian within earshot leaned in to grasp at Emmeryn's words. "I ask that you hear the truth of my words! War will win you nothing but sadness and pain, both inside your borders and out. Free yourselves from this hatred! From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must," she pleaded, a voice like steel from a face of porcelain. "As I will do."

Exalt Emmeryn's shaking breath rattled through the air. "See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!" she called, and every ear bent to listen, every eye strained to see.

For a single moment, Phila felt the world buzz with silence. _Please let this be it._ Let it be the moment of distraction, the moment she could die knowing her queen was safe. That was her only regret.

She clawed the ground. How untrue that was, however selfish. She never married a man she thought suitable, nor lived to see the young recruits, with their shining eyes and faces, grow into fine knights.

Chrom cried his sister's name.

Phila only had a moment to recall her regrets before watching the Exalt fall.

"No," she rasped, her vision clouding. "Emmeryn—" she sputtered, red bespeckling the ground before her.

However selfishly, she realized it all too late. She held no wish to live a day without her most trusted friend by her side.

_Friend._

_Exalt._

_Emmeryn._

One might think the words wouldn't click into place beside one another, but Phila knew better. Unfortunately, knowing better made all the difference.

_At least... We can go down together._

Phila's cheek met the dirt, and her vision clouded black.

* * *

><p>"<em>Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.<em>"

- Winston Churchill


	2. ash

_promises can't be kept. how _can_ they be, if things so flawed as people make them?_

ii. ash

A glittering shroud settled atop the coffin, shuddering, like it felt the chilled air. Clouds, in turn, shrouded the sun.

Phila was shocked they provided her mother a proper burial for the most highly regarded Pegasus Knight in the realm. Though, she supposed the Exalt's death had something to do with common sense creeping back into the court.

She stood amongst the remaining soldiers.

_I swear to you, upon mine honor, Phila, that I'll return. I promise I'll complete training with you._

_Shut up!_ she wanted to scream. _Take your promises and leave me here, without you, without father, without—_

The coffin passed Phila, all prior thoughts vanishing as her eyes followed it to the end of the row of square-shouldered men.

Should her heart have fallen when her mother's body was dumped into the ground? What kind of person lacked sorrow when their mother died? But still, even then, Phila couldn't cry. Nay, not even if she wanted to — tears equaled weakness. And in the court, Phila was not known for being weak.

She recalled the lovely young widows chattering in the hall earlier that morning, as she wound through the castle to locate the burial. Their twittering carried around the bend, and Phila halted.

"Eyes like a hawk, that one."

"Just as good as — no, _better than_ her mother!"

"Aye, it gives me hope for the generation to come. Our daughters will be looking up to a strong young woman like Phila."

Her nails scraped the stone wall. Most would have glowed in pride to hear such praise from nobles, Phila realized; and, at first she felt her heart swell. However, whilst hearing them ramble on about her fabled talent, panic crept in.

High praise meant high expectations. And high expectations stood a mere stone's throw away from failure. Just like she failed Mother, Phila would disappoint the court.

She snapped back to the dreary day after being bumped into. The attendees were solemnly scattering back to whence they came.

"M-My apologies," a young man, hardly more than fifteen, muttered, his bark brown hair nearly covering the face on his bent head. Though, the only thing cluing her into his age was his lean build; the boy towered over even her. And then there was his gleaming armor, worn even to this insignificant congregation. Phila knew not what to make of if, since even she rejected her armor for the duration of the burial.

Phila shook her head, though she wasn't sure he saw. "Don't apologize," she replied, a little more harshly than she would've liked.

His eyes snapped up to hers.

Then she saw it — the chisel of his face matched that of the late Exalt's shadow. That man, with skin like leather, once trained Phila in the lance, and none too kindly at that.

Looking at the boy before her, she almost regretted feeling glad when she heard that leather face would not come home.

He swallowed. "Then... What _should_ I say?" he questioned quietly, almost aggressively, brow creasing, hands folded tightly before him.

She didn't know, and it did him no good to ask. "Nothing," she answered promptly, "because if someone takes offense at such an accident as bumping into them, then it doesn't concern you." She set her jaw. Honestly, from the moment her mother swept her onto the court scene, she quickly tired of all the people-pleasing dogs. This boy was no different.

However, his eyes steeled. "You must be Phila," he ground out, his frown a little heavier, and posture a little stiffer.

Phila's breath hitched. "What makes you say that?" she interrogated at once. So the court hadn't only spread rumors about her good points — just as she suspected. But no one ever uttered them aloud to her.

Until now.

He froze, as if realizing his grave mistake. "I..." He trailed off, mouth slightly agape.

"What? You what?" she pressed, near ready to whip a knife out and gut him if that's what it took.

"I have heard you have the most striking scarlet eyes, my lady, and I dare say they don't disappoint," he finished curtly, his gaze drilling into hers. Was that sincerity? Honesty? A leering glint in his eye? Or the plain indifference of a man trying to weasel his way out of her gripping stare?

Her mind raced to the fierce red rubies that once peered from beneath her mother's brow. _Peered_? How could she think of her mother in the past tense? Her throat threatened to trap her breath. "Are you _mocking_ me?" she scoffed. No one _ever_ paid Phila compliments. He most certainly meant it in a demeaning way, with that stiffness of his, like a wooden board. Phila knew how to break a wooden board with a single blow — one only needed to know its weak point.

Today, she decided his weak point was his cheek and her weapon of choice was her open palm.

* * *

><p>Anger shook her body in faint tremors as she knelt before the Exalt. The graceful, far too young Exalt, her hair in golden curls, parted to show her Brand.<p>

"I am here to serve, Your Grace," she declared, daring to meet the eyes of the young girl. Phila recalled Emmeryn's presence at her knighting so many years ago.

Something in her eyes changed. They were so soft and round and innocent back then. But now, they looked worn and bent, and held a tempered look. "You may rise, Phila," she replied softly.

Phila rose, and towered above the twelve-year-old Exalt. _Hold your hands behind your back, Phila_, she heard her mother say. _Don't slouch. Don't keep that ridiculous smile on your face. Phila, you must listen to me, lest you want to abandon your duty as my successor. _She straightened her back and clasped her hands.

Emmeryn's brow pinched together, and her delicate lips turned downward. "You needn't feel so uneasy around me," she murmured, her elegant mannerisms far above her years. How Phila would've killed to borrow a mere _fraction_ of that grace when _she_ was that age.

"Uneasy?" she echoed, hands clasping tighter together. Had she done something wrong, already? "I-I'm perfectly at ease, Your Grace." The assurance felt empty as it tumbled away from her lips. She kept her face muscles taut, and prayed Emmeryn would drop the matter and task her with something she could do, like cleaning stables or maintaining weapons, or even just training.

Besides, who was she to care for Phila's ease of mind? That job lied with Phila, and Phila alone.

She swore she heard a small puff of air escape the girl's mouth. "If you insist," she resigned. Emmeryn turned to the throne, and for a moment, Phila wondered if that indicated a dismissal. However, Her Grace plucked a long, thin rapier from before her throne and returned to Phila, arms outstretched. She provided a warm smile.

The rapier belonged to her mother. Phila opened her mouth to decline, to denounce her worthiness of such a weapon.

Phila was quick, but Emmeryn was quicker. "I insist you have this, Phila."

"It was supposed to be buried with her," she countered swiftly, stiffening. "M-My apologies, I didn't mean to speak out of turn." Barely five minutes passed, and Phila already glimsped the precipice of failure. Other castle servants lingered around the hall — afterwards, she would most certainly take the starring role in their gossip.

But something peculiar happened. It started softly, followed by tumbling rolls of more giggles. Emmeryn _laughed_.

For the second time that day, Phila's face heated, and if she was any weaker, tears would have pricked the corners of her eyes.

"You're doing just fine, Phila," Emmeryn reassured her, as if reading her mind, with a concerned tilt of her head.

Those words sounded far away. No, she was certainly not doing just fine, thank you, but she supposed any more untoward speak would reflect too poorly on her. She only managed a stiff nod.

The Exalt smiled, glanced warily at the rapier, and back at Phila, looking determined. "I could arrange for the rapier to be buried beside her coffin, if you wish." Her words lingered in the air for a stale few seconds.

Perhaps, just _maybe_, Phila could master it with enough practice. She lacked skill in close-combat weapons; however, her mother would have wanted this. She would want Phila to master her weapon. "No... That won't be necessary, Your Grace," she declined, carefully reaching out to grasp the handle, her fingers trembling.

Emmeryn's face remained serene, though her eyes darkened.

Phila held the rapier close.

"You... Are dismissed. You may do whatever you wish for today, and begin duties tomorrow," Emmeryn announced.

"Are you sure— Your Grace?" Phila gawked, her grip tightening on the rapier. "I can start today, if you—"

"_No_."

Phila halted, jaw hanging open. How could such a small girl hold so commanding a voice? "I... Understand." She swallowed her worry, the knot in her stomach bevoming increasingly larger. How could she hope to lift her mind of thoughts of her mother without busywork?

Emmeryn nodded.

Returning the nod hesitantly, Phila turned to leave.

"Oh, and Phila?" Emmeryn called, the tiniest hint of delight in her voice, a hint of a coy smile on the curve of her lips. "Please be gentle with Frederick. He may look like he's made of steel, but I assure you, no man is."

For the third time, Phila's cheeks lit afire with shame.

* * *

><p>"<em>Love. Of course, love. Flames for a year, ashes for thirty.<em>"

— Giuseppi Tomasi di Lampedusa, _The Leopard_

* * *

><p>Lilybud: I agree completely! I'm glad you like what I'm trying to put together, here. Thank you so much! :)<p> 


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